


Bluebells

by shut_the_jongup



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 16,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shut_the_jongup/pseuds/shut_the_jongup
Summary: A collection of my B.A.P one-shots.





	1. Guidelines

**GUIDELINES:**

_i_. I swear a lot, so if you don’t want explicit language, be sure to mention it in your request and I’ll refrain myself.

 _ii_. I don’t write smut, so please don’t ask for it. (I can kinda do make-outs tho o.o)

 _iii_. Above every chapter I will provide the rating and any/all warnings.

 _iv_. I can’t write anything that involves any sort of trigger. (No self-harm, suicide, etc.)

 _v._ You don’t need to specify a pairing/cast, but it would be very helpful, and know that if you don’t I will take liberties. ;)

 _vi._ Be sure to include a prompt in your request, something like “daeup fluff” will be more difficult for me, so please choose something specific.

 

thank you! xx


	2. Cardboard and Popped Rice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were trying to reach for a box of cereal and a whole shelf’s-worth of cereal boxes fell on you here let me help” -anon
> 
> Younglo
> 
> Warning: mild language (as in there's 2 swear words)

Youngjae decides it is an appropriate time to eternally curse Daehyun’s soul. He’ll need to excommunicate him first, though. Youngjae’s anger only lasts so long, however, vanishing completely when hand is offered to him. Not moving, his eyes follow the length of an arm, go over the curve of a shoulder, maneuver around an Adam’s apple, and trail up an undeniably handsome face, lingering on the glinting ring on his left nostril for a moment too long.

Suddenly, Youngjae is thanking his idiot of a friend for having an addiction to Rice Krispies, as he reaches out and tentatively grasps the hand in front of him.

 

_Daehyun just_ had _to get sick in the peak of winter. Youngjae stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, having forgotten his gloves on the counter.  Some days he swore his friend was delusional; they lived together, attending the same college and residing off campus, but in all honesty, the guy was a handful. Youngjae was just glad that Daehyun had finally managed to snag someone else to take care of him; that took a load off his shoulders. Though, unfortunately, it was apparently Youngjae’s job to restock Daehyun’s cereal stash. When he had complained about always running errands, Jongup had reassured him that he would go next time, but the poor guy was currently immobilized; Daehyun refusing to let go of his boyfriend. Youngjae honestly had no clue how the younger put up with this. He supposed Jongup was just generally a sweet guy._

_“Why can’t I have one of those?” Youngjae grumbled to himself as he tugged his hat back over his ears. Single and lonely as shit, he liked to refer to himself as._

_At least the gentle fall of snow was pretty. It had just begun to leave a light dusting of white along the sidewalk when Youngjae entered the grocery store, wiping the flecks of white ice from his eyelashes and patting his pocket to be sure the folded 5 he had taken from Daehyun’s wallet was still there._

_After what seemed like an eternity of walking back and forth through the cereal aisles and nearly giving up and purchasing an off-brand version of Daehyun’s beloved Rice Krispies, he finally spotted the iconic bright blue boxes. More than 20 of them, he estimated, and on the highest possible shelf. Wonderful._

_8 Foot Shelves vs. a whole 5’10” Yoo Youngjae._

_He knew it was stupid. He_ knew _that nothing good could possibly come with a running jump to knock a single box of Rice Krispies off of a shelf._

_But Youngjae did it anyway._

_Well, he tried._ _  
_ _And found himself on the floor, drowning in a pile of cereal boxes, as someone rounded the corner._

_“Whoa!”_

 

And so here he is, sitting in a pond of cardboard and popped rice, staring at the face of a young man he’s never seen before.  
“Um…” the guy states awkwardly, glancing at his hand, which has been in Youngjae’s for a solid minute. “Here, let me help you up.”  
“Yeah,” Youngjae responds intelligently, letting the other pull him to his feet, stumbling over cardboard boxes and nearly falling into him. There are little bits of popped rice in his hair, and the movement sends them tumbling down, across his shoulders.  
“Are you okay? That was quite an interesting scene to see on my first day here,” the other man scratches the back of his head, awkwardly pulling his hand from Youngjae’s.  
“Yeah,” Youngjae repeats.  
“That’s good…I’ll take care of the mess; did you need some help getting one of those? Oh, I’m Junhong, by the way,” he says, pointing to his nametag and then back towards where there are still a few unharmed boxes of Rice Krispies on the shelf.  
“Yeah.”  
Junhong flashes Youngjae a small, amused smile, the right corner of his mouth quirking up a bit higher and revealing a dimple.  
Youngjae ignored that.  
Kind of.  
Junhong reaches up and easily snags a box of the cereal, turning and holding it out to Youngjae, that smile still on his face. It’s then that Youngjae notices how tall the other is; he has to be over 6 feet.

“ _Damn._ ”

“What?”


	3. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "person a gettin sensual, ends up whispering “i think we should have chinese for dinner” in b’s ear" -anon
> 
> Daeup
> 
> Warning: mild not really sexual situation (kinda just making out) and swearing

_Left, right, duck and roll, fall back, advance…_

_The snow was falling heavily, his enemies and fellow soldiers clad in their heavy chainmail armor sinking further into the storm with every step. This was likely the most intense battle he had participated in yet, and he was tense, his moves not as smooth as the normally would be. There were a few times he’d swing and completely miss his target, offering them an opening instead. He was hurt. Badly. Running out of stamina, he decided to fall back further and regroup with his team of soldiers._

_As soon as he reached them, however, there was a resounding, screeching and raspy roar as a shadow crossed above the snowy mountains. As if the battle couldn’t get any worse, (they were already fighting uphill) a massive ruby Vici dragon soared over the peaks and landed heavily in the wet snow, a wave of the powder washing over the soldiers from the impact. He look up and recognized the enemy’s crest branded upon the side of the beast’s neck, and quickly sifted through his bag for a health potion he had hoped to save for later._

_A message from the general was suddenly sent out, re-assigning the soldiers to specific locations. He had been told to continue fighting the enemy soldiers and ignore the dragon; another group would be taking care of that._

_He somehow managed to get around the giant lizard, sprinting and leaping over the pools of purple poison it sprayed from an open mouth, and engaged in battle with a small group of_ echidna _, their serpent-like tails leaving trails in the snow as they slithered around him. He managed to cut down about 12 of the weak creatures, but soon found himself face to face with an Amazon warrior. “Shit,” he cursed, turning a circle to asses the situation further. There was no one else within his perameter that he could see, so he squared his stance and adjusted his grip on the sword. The warrior held a trident in her left hand and a net in her right. He knew that this was a weapon among the Romans, especially gladiators, that required skill; he knew that she must have been experienced._

_Parrying her first lunge easily, he ducked to the side and attempted to make contact with her exposed back, but the Amazon followed his movements and stabbed at him again, this time finding a mark just below his chest. He stumbled a few feet back, scrambling for a new strategy. He missed the woman bringing the arm holding a net behind her, and, gaining momentum, she flung it over her shoulder and he cursed himself for not equipping a shield as the net caught around his legs, making him lose his balance and fall to the snow. Unable to get away, he could only watch as the woman approached him, swiftly raising her trident above his chest, and–_

“GOD _FUCKING_ DAMMIT!!” Jongup threw his controller to the floor and rested his head back against the couch. That stupid game was seriously going to drive him insane. _How the_ hell _had Junhong gotten past this battle stage?_

Just as he was turning the TV off and shutting down the gaming system, he noticed someone enter the so called “living room” of the dorm.

“Lost to the Amazons again?” Daehyun stood, leaning against the doorframe, looking all too tauntingly at Jongup.

“I am _not_ talking about this with you,” Jongup folded his arms across his chest and curled into the corner of the couch, pouting at the other.

“Would you rather I get Junhong for you?” Daehyun approached the couch and placed his hands on his hips, smirking down at Jongup.

“No,” Jongup spoke softly and stood, only to wrap his arms around Daehyun’s waist and pull him down on top of him, falling backwards onto the furniture and managing to sneak a glance at the clock that hung on the wall.

_17:12. Almost time for dinner._

Daehyun yelped as he caught himself on his elbows, hovering just centimeters above Jongup’s body. Jongup smirked and pushed Daehyun’s arms out from under him, causing him to fall into his chest, and simultaneously tugged him upwards so that he could reach his lips.

“Jongup!” Daehyun gasped and pulled away quickly, glancing around like he thought someone was following him. “Everyone is here, someone might–”

“They don’t care,” Jongup cut off his boyfriend with another sweet kiss, and Daehyun decided it would be useless to argue, especially when one of Jongup's hands began trailing up and down his spine, the other holding his jaw in place.

Daehyun threw an arm behind Jongup’s neck, and shifted his position so that he was in the his lap, straddling him, and ducked to the side to nip at one of his collarbones.

Jongup hummed, appreciating the action, and settled his hands on Daehyun’s hips, rubbing small circles into them with his thumbs. “Mm, Dae…”

“Hm?” Daehyun moved back up, trailing small, warm kisses along Jongup’s neck, ending with a peck at his lips.

Jongup leaned forward, pushing Daehyun into the back of the couch and seating himself before him with a sly grin on his face. “It’s almost dinner time, Hyung.”

Daehyun shivered. “It is, isn’t it?” He twisted a little bit as Jongup tugged his sleeve out of the way and bit into his shoulder softly, resting one hand on his Daehyun's chest as he brought the other to his hair, lifting his head to capture him in another long kiss, this one a little more heated than the last two.

“What do you think we should have?” Jongup pulled away for a split second to ask the question, and dove in for another kiss, not giving him time to respond, only separating a moment later to let him breathe.

“What are you in the mood for?” Daehyun asked breathlessly as Jongup traced the veins protruding from the side of his neck, staring at him deeply.

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Jongup trailed off and leaned in for another kiss, only to veer off course at the last second and land his mouth beside Daehyun’s neck.

Daehyun shuddered as Jongup’s breath brushed across the side of his face, and he whispered into his ear.

“I was thinking maybe we could order Chinese.”

Jongup rose to his feet, sending Daehyun a wink before he left the room.

It took Daehyun a minute to process what had just happened, sitting in the same position, mouth hung open.

“…”

“Moon Jongup you little _shit!!_ “ Daehyun stumbled off the couch, nearly wiping out in the process. “Get back here and finish what you started!!”


	4. Leader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a quick one :)
> 
> "could u write about himchan missing yongguk pls?" -anon  
> pairing: banghim  
> warnings: none

There was nothing weird about being the leader of a band. There wasn’t anything “strange” about standing in the front all the time. Corralling the other four members was something that he was used to already, especially since Yongguk had moved out of the dorms to be on his own.

It wasn’t hard to be the stand-in leader. In fact, it seemed to be something Himchan was quite suited for. He had always been the punctual, organized type; every qualification was more than there.

So it’s obvious that the problem he’s having is not because of his new responsibilities.

There was an empty space, billowing and expanding every day like some sort of black hole, and it just couldn’t be filled; no one even tried to fill it. It was more like B.A.P had been pressed the pause button. Sure, they had promoted Skydive and gone on a tour in Japan (much to Himchan’s chagrin, of course.) Why couldn’t they just hold off on another Japan tour until Yongguk came back? Promotions, sure, he could understand continuing with those–they’ve done promotions minus one before, back when he broke his hand–but a _tour?_ It just wasn’t right.

But, he has to admit (and willingly will do so), that his problem does not lie with his new duties, nor the plans of the company. (Although those sure haven’t been helping coax his stress levels.) All of the members could feel it. The gap was so empty it was painful at times; visible to everyone. There was an aura gone, a presence missed.

It was hard without him.

Himchan worried constantly, of course, and texted him as often as he could, but being without his best friend when he had grown so accustomed to constantly being by his side was…depressing. Sometimes he wouldn’t sleep, just laying in bed in his room that he didn’t share with anyone anymore.

He’d just think. Think about life, the classic existential crisis, he supposed, but it always faded eventually and he would just shrug the thoughts away.

He missed Yongguk.


	5. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Younglo : Youngjae's/Junhong's bumper touches Junhong's/Youngjae's car but it is very light but Junhong/Youngjae insists that there's scratch/damage and he wants Youngjae's/Junhong's number because he's a crush asdfghjkl idk XD” -jfreakns95
> 
> paring: younglo  
> warnings: little bit of language, nothing too bad.

Junhong curses every city in the world as he drives around, trying to find a place to park. He remembers scoffing at the parallel parking requirement when he took his driving test, but that was before he moved out of the suburbs. He hasn’t parallel parked since he was sixteen, which is why he’s so desperately searching for a lot, but it seems the nearest one to his destination is five blocks over. There’s an empty spot by the sidewalk to his right, parking meter empty. There’s a car in the spot behind and in front of the space.

Junhong takes a deep breath and signals right, pulling over and lining up with the car in front of his spot. He can do a parallel park. Of course he can, it couldn’t be any harder than he remembered, right?  
He spins the wheel all the way to the right and shifts into reverse, throwing an arm over the passenger seat as he releases the brake.  
So far so good. He stops the vehicle once he can see the right front corner of the rear car in his rear windshield, and turns the wheel back to the middle position. He backs up slowly until he’s just cleared the car in front of him, then stops and turns the wheel all the way to the left. And suddenly he’s in the spot. He mentally cheers as he straightens the wheels and shifts into drive to pull up a little bit.  
His eyes bug out as the car lurches backwards, and the lightest scratching noise makes it’s way to his ears. Swearing at himself for making such a dumb mistake, he switches the gear to park and slides out of the car, jogging to the back to assess the damage. His back bumper is just touching the front of a shiny, expensive looking yellow Mustang.  
His mind screams at him as he presses both hands to either side of his face. _What has he done?_  
“You hit my car.”  
Junhong squeaks as he stands up and whirls around, prepared to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. “No! No, I–wait, yes. Yes, I did, I did and I’m so _soooo_ sorry please don’t sue me, I have a puppy and two friends to take care of, _please_ –”  
The owner of the car suddenly starts laughing, and Junhong squints, looking at him.  
Oh.  
 _Oh_.  
Wow. Now that, Junhong’s has to admit, is one _fine_ specimen.  
Said specimen doesn’t seem upset though, much to Junhong’s relief, rather just kind of amused. He’s got a handbag thrown over his shoulder and a jacket draped over one arm. His shirt is a low-cut black v-neck, and Junhong uses all his willpower to keep his eyes away from those _gorgeous_ collarbones. He’s wearing dark gray skinny jeans, and a bright red sunhat that Junhong thinks would look absolutely ridiculous on anyone who isn’t this guy. His eyes catch the shine of very real and expensive looking diamond studs adorning his ears, and, no, his mouth is _not_ watering. But the fluffy brown hair resting on his forehead looks so soft…  
“–and…hey, are you alright?”  
Junhong blinks.  
“No, I’m Junhong,” he says, brows creasing in confusion until he realizes what he just said, and he cringes. “I mean–”  
“Can you pull forward so that I can check for any damage?” The man raises an eyebrow at Junhong, looking intrigued by his strange behavior. His voice is so sweet and soft; Junhong wonders if he might be a singer.  
Junhong wants to tell him that he isn’t always like this, but instead he bolts to his car and does as he’s been asked.  
As soon as he’s back on the sidewalk, watching the other man lean over the inspect the front of his car ( _not_ staring at his butt–though if he’s ever seen a cute butt, this has gotta be it–) and praying that there’s at least a tiny scratch because _damn_ he wants this guy’s number. Even if it means a first date in court.  
“Looks like you got lucky,” the man stands up and straightens out his shirt; Junhong averts his eyes as the edge lifts a little too high.  
“Oh!” He blinks. “A-are you sure? I could’ve sworn I saw something…” Junhong drops to his knees and stares at the front of the car. “Yeah, there’s definitely a little scratch here,” he stands up and brushes off his pants. “I’ve gotta run, actually, you can just give me your number and I’ll call you later to settle this?” He scratches the back of his head and smiles, cheeks turning a little pink.  
Junhong swears he sees the man smirk as he reaches into his jacket pocket and holds a rectangular piece of colorful cardstock out to him.  
“I’m Youngjae,” he says.  
Youngjae. Beautiful. Perfect. Flawless. Junhong knew he’d have a beautiful name.  
Youngjae unlocks his car and tosses his bag and jacket into the passenger seat, then makes his way around to the door on the other side.  
Lord, that is one nice car.  
“You feel free to call me as soon as you’re free, Junhong,” he says as he steps into the car. The door shuts and Junhong’s mouth drops open, but then the window facing him slides down and he sees Youngjae slip a pair of sunglasses on and turn to face him.  
“But there’s no scratch on my car.”  
As Youngjae pulls out and drives away, rounding the corner, Junhong blanches. He’s not sure if he imagined the wink Youngjae sent him or not. Maybe it was because of the glasses.  
He stares down at the card in his hands, and, sure enough, there’s a number on it. And, wait–

  
_“No way.”_


	6. Invasive Species

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Zelo runs through a busy street just to pet a small dog while Youngjae freaks out the whole time. Please I need it. . ." -whocaresimontheothersideofthewar
> 
> Pairing: Younglo  
> Warnings: none

As much as Junhong liked the snow, he absolutely loved springtime. The sun bent down to kiss his cheeks as he lifted his face to the sky, inhaling the sweet, post-rain shower air deeply and closing his eyes. A smile settled down comfortably on his lips, and he stopped walking as he let it slowly flicker into a soft grin.

“…and then we’ll need to–huh? Junhong?”

At the sound of his name, Junhong lowered his head, and the grin on his face only grew when he looked at Youngjae, who was simply  _glowing_ in the sunshine. Junhong’s eyes shone bright as they reflected the light and he blinked, smile not faltering as he took a few steps to reach where Youngjae had stopped walking upon realizing Junhong was no longer beside him.

He grabbed Youngjae’s hands and stared at him; his soft brown hair was highlighted in sunrays, and his eyelashes nearly brushed his cheeks as he blinked in confusion, but he showed no signs of protesting the action.

Junhong took Youngjae’s chin in his hand and lifted his face to look him in the eye. Youngjae opened his mouth as if to say something, but Junhong interrupted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, placing a hand on each of Youngjae’s cheeks as they blossomed in light pink. “Just like a dandelion.”

Youngjae’s eyebrows furrowed, and his nose scrunched up adorably. “A weed? Thanks.”

Junhong laughed and shook his head. “You know that’s not what I mean,” he said. “Golden and soft. Everywhere I look, there you are.”

“So I’m an abundant invasive species; fantastic.”

Junhong tsked. “But always so easily blowing away in the summertime.”

“When did you get so poetic?” Youngjae lowered his head in attempt to hide the blush on his cheeks. He shook his head with a small laugh. “I’m none of those things, don’t exaggerate…”

“But you are, and then some,” Junhong insisted, tilting his head to look Youngjae in the eyes. “And I happen to love dandelions,” he said, touching his lips lightly to Youngjae’s nose and then engulfing him in a tight hug.

Youngjae relaxed into the warmth and returned the embrace; he was no dandelion, but Junhong was definitely his sunflower. He smiled and nuzzled into Junhong’s shoulder when he felt the other gasp excitedly. He lifted his head and was about to ask what had Junhong so excited, but he was interrupted.

“Look!”

Junhong was pointing across the street (they had been doing some shopping in the city) and bouncing on his feet.

“What?” Youngjae tried to follow his finger, but he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

But then Junhong took off, sprinting into the road (luckily it wasn’t rush hour), and dodged and wove his way through cars, angry honks filling the air.

“Oh my god!” Youngjae’s mouth fell open. “JUNHONG! WHAT THE _HELL_ ARE YOU DOING?! GET BACK HERE!” He ran to the edge of the sidewalk, only to see Junhong bow in the general direction of an infuriated driver and then turn, stepping past a parking meter on the other side of the street and kneeling down.

Youngjae rushed down the cement to where the actual cross walk was and waited for the light to turn. _What the hell was Junhong thinking?!_

As soon as the light flashed Youngjae took off after him, running across the street and making a sharp right to head towards him. And there Junhong was, on his knees, gushing over a tiny dog.

_“Junhong!”_

The younger of the two jerked up at the sound of his name. “Youngjae!” He turned around, one hand still on the dog, with a bright smile on his face as if he hadn’t just run through a busy street and almost gotten hit by a car several times. “Look, it’s a dachshund!”

Youngjae looked down at the dog. It wasn’t as cute as Junhong, but still cute, with short brownish-red fur and big, wide eyes. It’s tail wagged so quickly it was a blur as Junhong scratched behind the dog’s ears.

The owner of the dog looked just as in shock as Youngjae was, a confused smile on her face, but she didn’t stop Junhong.

“Jesus, Junhong…” Youngjae ran a hand through his hair.

“Can I hold her?” Junhong looked up at the girl from where he was squatting on the ground, his eyes wide and sparkling. “Please?”

“Sure.”

“No.”

She and Youngjae spoke at the same time, and he paused as Junhong turned to look at him.

“Junhong, you just ran through a busy street!” Youngjae waved his arms in the air. “You could’ve been hit by a car!”

“He’s got a point,” the owner of the dog piped up.

“I know, I know, I’m an idiot, but can you lecture me later? I wanna hold the puppyyyy,” Junhong whined.

Youngjae groaned and brought a hand to his face. “Whatever, hold the dog. We’ll talk about your dangerous habits on the way home.”

But all of Youngjae’s frustration disappeared the second Junhong’s face broke out into another bright smile as he scooped up the tiny dog, nuzzling her to his face and pressing a kiss next to her ear.

“She’s so sweet,” Junhong cooed. Suddenly his eyes widened, and Youngjae knew what was coming.

“Don’t you dare even–”

“We should get another puppy!”


	7. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can I have just a huge mound of fluff, just like pour that shit on there, for DaeUp??? It can be anything just something that I can squeal happily over omfg" -whocaresimontheothersideofthewar
> 
> pairing: DaeUp  
> warnings: none, maybe one swear word I don't even remember but its nothing bad :)

Daehyun shivers as he leans back against the railing of the platform. He watches as the wind steals his warm breath: condensing and snatching it into the sky so that it flies away and out of sight.

Is February supposed to be this cold?

“Yes.”

Daehyun’s eyes widen a little bit in surprise, and he turns to face Jongup, who’s next to him, also shivering.

“Did I–”

“Say that out loud?” Jongup smiles at him cutely, his eyes folding into tiny crescent moons as his cheeks lift and his nose scrunches up just a little bit. “Yes.”

Daehyun laughs airily. “I’ve gotta stop doing that,” he says as he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.

Jongup snorts. “Please don’t; its amusing.” He nudges Daehyun with his elbow. “And we wouldn’t be dating if you didn’t have that habit,” he adds with a wink.

“That is a good point,” Daehyun admits, adding a small blush to his already frostbitten cheeks. He tries not to think about that embarrassing day in attempt to minimize the cringe.

“I’ll never forget that day,” Jongup looks out over the train tracks, and then back at Daehyun, another smile on his lips as he removes his hands from his pockets and reaches for his boyfriend.

Daehyun doesn’t protest as Jongup gathers him in his arms, and soon he’s sitting in front of Jongup, whose knees are on either side of his own. He brings his hands up to where Jongup has his arms wrapped around his chest to hold him back against his own and grabs his chilly hands.

“We really need to invest in some gloves,” he says, turning his head to rest it on Jongup’s chest and snuggling into the provided warmth. “Maybe just me, actually,” he corrects himself, “how are you so warm? You practically _radiate heat_.”

He feels more than hears the laugh as he turns to wrap his arms around Jongup’s waist, trying to get as close to the source of warmth as possible.

“I run warm,” Jongup says. “But that doesn’t mean I’m immune to the cold.” He hugs Daehyun closer and buries his nose in his hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo.

They stay like that for a little while, until Jongup checks his watch. “Wasn’t the train supposed to arrive at 5?”

“Think so,” Daehyun murmurs from where he’s still snuggled into Jongup’s chest. “Why? What time is it?”

“Only 5:15. It’ll probably be here any minute.”

“We should probably get up then,” Daehyun says.

“Yeah.” Jongup agrees and reaches for Daehyun’s arms, unwrapping them from where they clutch around his waist. Daehyun whines softly in protest, but lets his boyfriend pull him to his feet.

Most of the people on their platform are either grumbling about the apparent delay or shivering while tapping at their phones. One girl is even holding a small dog, which is all snuggled up in a thick blanket, and Daehyun finds himself jealous of the animal as he leans back against Jongup.

“You have both of our tickets?”

“In my pocket,” Jongup confirms, smiling and pecking Daehyun on the nose. “Now grab your suitcase, it’s coming.”

 

It only takes the couple a few minutes to find their seats, and Jongup is quick to stow their luggage in the compartment above them. He slides into the seat next to Daehyun and pushes the armrest between them up and out of the was.

Seeing an opening, Daehyun immediately shifts to lay his head in Jongup’s lap just as he situates himself with his legs criss-crossed and his phone in hand. He makes a small noise of surprise, looking down at his boyfriend, but just shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“It’s only a three hour ride, Dae,” he says, running his fingers through the soft, brown hair fanned over his thigh. “Are you planning to just nap through it?”

Daehyun shrugs. “The first hour, at least. Then I’ll get off of you.” He gives Jongup a cheesy smile.

“I don’t mind,” Jongup responds. “But you’re very tempting.”

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest,” Daehyun teases. “Tempting how?” He jokingly wiggles his hips around as he asks.

Jongup stifles a laugh and pushes Daehyun’s hips back down, rolling his eyes again.

There’s a small crackle over the loudspeaker system before the conductor announces that they will be departing shortly, and Jongup sighs, resting his head against the back of the seat. They had been traveling for a full day, on their way to visit some friends in another city who had just announced their engagement.

 

“About damn time,” Daehyun had said when they got the letter in the mail. “They’ve been dating for, like, a decade!”

Jongup had laughed and told him that some people liked to take their time, and Daehyun had replied, saying that he hoped Jongup wasn’t one of those people. He had been joking, of course. (But Jongup wasn’t that kind of person, no, not really, either way.)

 

About two hours into the train ride, Daehyun begins to stir, slowly waking up. Jongup closes and puts down the book he’s been reading, and pokes his boyfriend’s cheek a couple of times, until his eyes flutter open.

“You’re so pretty when you sleep,” Jongup says.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Daehyun asks sleepily, sitting up and taking his spot next to Jongup, only to lean his head on his shoulder.

It’s beginning to grow dark outside, the glow of the sun slowly diminishing, but the lights inside the cars haven’t been turned on yet, and Jongup gets an idea when he sees that they’re approaching a tunnel.

 

The train suddenly goes dark (not completely, there are a few floor lights that are always turned on) as the remaining sunlight is cut off when they enter the tunnel. Daehyun startles a little bit when he feels a hand rest on the back of his neck, another on top of his thigh, but relaxes a moment after when he recognizes those hands and remembers who it is that he’s sitting next to. Jongup tilts his head slightly to slot their lips together sweetly. Daehyun loves it when Jongup kisses him like this; he can feel the love, the absolute passion behind every movement. There’s nothing more than simple love in the feeling, and Daehyun smiles (or tries to) as he returns the gesture, only to jerk back in surprise when the car is suddenly illuminated, the night lights coming on.

Jongup laughs as Daehyun looks around quickly, his face turning red, and he throws an arm around his shoulder, grabbing his discarded book.

Suddenly Daehyun meets the eyes of the child who’s sitting across from them, and staring very openly with his mouth wide open. Quickly, Daehyun brings a finger to his lips, signaling for the boy not to say anything, but the kid just shakes himself out of it and smiles at him, then turns back to face who Daehyun assumes is his mother.

“ _Jongup_ –”

“Shh, I’m reading,” his boyfriend shushes him and grabs his hand to thread their fingers together.

At the action, Daehyun leans back in his seat with a sigh and a smile on his lips; he really hates traveling, but Jongup somehow always makes the trips worthwhile.


	8. Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can I request a fanfic with just morning cuddles in bed, it doesn't matter the couple (as long as Youngjae is in it im ok), I just need some fluffy cuddles." -anon
> 
> Pairing: Younglo (ft. a brief appearance of Daeup kinda; I couldn't resist I saw an opportunity)  
> rating: G  
> warnings: none; sweet, innocent fluff.

Junhong reaches across the couch and over Jongup’s lap (to which Jongup gives him a strange look until he realizes what exactly it is the younger is reaching for) and swiftly catches Youngjae’s empty hand.

Youngjae jumps a little at the sudden, unprovoked action, but soon returns the affection, stroking his thumb over Junhong’s knuckles. He pays no mind to the fact that their woven hands are resting in someone else’s lap, that is, until Jongup clears his throat and stands up abruptly, breaking the link with his thigh as he quickly evacuates the living room.

As soon as he’s gone Junhong lets out a chuckle and scoots closer to Youngjae, caging him between the armrest and himself; not that Youngjae would oppose the position. There was a quick peck on the lips, Junhong lingering for a second after with his forehead pressed to Youngjae’s, eyes downcast.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

* * *

“Why are your legs so long?” Youngjae huffs, adjusting the bony ankles on his lap so that the heels aren’t digging into a certain sensitive area.

“Sorry,” Junhong apologizes, ruffling his own hair, a tired pout on his face.

It’s been a long day for the both of them; the entirety of B.A.P. After a packed day, (out of bed by 5AM, driving around for different photoshoot location and an interview, returning to the studio around 5PM and practicing for five hours with no time for dinner during breaks) they had just returned to the dorm. Jongup and Daehyun had immediately slid down against the wall next to the bathroom to wait for Himchan to shower first; Jongup had since fallen asleep, strewn across Daehyun’s lap as the older played with his hair.

“C’mere.” Youngjae uses what’s left of his strength to heave Junhong, by the ankles, into his lap. Despite the fact that Junhong is nearly twice the size of Youngjae, he immediately curls into a ball in his lap, much akin to a kitten, and lets out a tired sigh.

“You gonna wait for the shower or should we get you into bed and save it for the morning?”

“No.” Junhong’s voice is muffled by Youngjae’s bicep and he clings tightly to him.

“I’ll take that as a ‘let’s go to bed’,” Youngjae inferred. “But I am _not_ carrying you.”

* * *

It is a quiet morning. Unusual for them, yes, but never underappreciated. There’s muffled commotion wafting up from the busy streets below their dorm, but no one has made a sound since they had dinner last night.

Youngjae has just woken up, but he finds himself stuck in that hazy, post-deep-slumber fog, and can’t seem to muster the energy to clear his head; not that he’d want to. Sleep is so, so precious. He doesn’t start when he hears the door to his room creak open slowly, hesitantly, eyes remaining half shut.

He barely flinches when he feels a cool hand press against his shoulder, nor where he is pushed gently to the side to make room for another body in the small bed.

He doesn’t say a thing when a chilly nose presses into the back of his neck, or when ice cold, bare feet find their home between his legs to rest atop his own, socked toes.

Two arms wrap around his shoulders from behind and pull his back snugly against a warm, beating chest.

All of this Youngjae barely registers, and unconsciously he lets his mouth curve lazily into a peaceful, lopsided, half-smile that the person holding him can’t see. Without moving he sinks into him, their bodies adjusting to the changes in temperature and finally settling on a comfortable average.

It’s nice.


	9. It's Not Unusual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “University AU, Jongup has a small crush on course-mate Daehyun even though they've never spoken. Dae sometimes catches him staring, and always shoots him a smile when he does. Please write a scene with this setting, where they talk for the first time~!” -anon
> 
> pairing: Daeup  
> rating:PG-13  
> warnings: n/a

Jongup is doomed.

Completely and utterly _doomed._

He’s had an entire week to do this project for Music Theory, a required course for his minor in vocal performance. It’s just supposed to be a quick presentation; no big deal, but at this point he’s questioning his decision to pick up a second minor, not to mention the surprising workload that comes with the Dance major package.

Finals week is approaching faster than ever, and Jongup is absolutely drowning in assignments, tests, and portfolios. As he jogs to class, he prays that his professor won’t pull his name to present today. All he needs is one more day, and it certainly isn’t adding anything to his track record that he’s late to this class nearly everyday, but it’s hard to make it across campus in the five minute window he has between classes.

He makes it today, though, and he thinks to himself that at least one thing is going right, even if it’s such a miniscule thing as sliding into his seat before the professor arrives.

He puts his bag down and pulls out his notebook and a pen, prepared to take the required notes from each presentation, and is still bent over when a familiar pair of black sneakers makes its way past.

He freezes and let’s his eyes follow the legs attached to the feet inside the shoes, tracing up nicely formed calves and thighs, hugged nicely in a pair of gray skinny jeans. He stops his eyes from drifting further up, dragging his mind out of the gutter. Now is not the time. Jongup shakes his head and places his notebook and pen on the desk in front of him. This is honestly the most pathetic crush he’s ever had; Jung Daehyun is so far out of his league; in fact he likes to think that they aren’t even in the same sport. Daehyun is, for one thing, two years older than Jongup, and basically a prodigy of the music program. He plays the lead in every musical produced at the university, and his instrumental skills are no joke either, but Jongup just can’t help the way he catches himself staring.

Jongup watches Daehyun as he settles into his usual seat, just a couple rows in front of Jongup, and musses his rich brown hair as he takes his phone out of his pocket, silencing it before putting it in his bag.

Jongup doesn’t notice the professor come in until she speaks, powering up the computer. “Well, I certainly hope you’re all prepared!” She sounds way too chipper, Jongup thinks. “I’ll pick the first name now, if there aren’t any volunteers, so that we can get started right away.” Unsurprisingly, no one volunteers to go first.

Jongup visibly cringes as she reaches into a jar filled with little slips of paper, fishing around a bit before drawing one out and unfolding it. He holds his breath, imagining that this must be what it feels like during the reaping of the _Hunger Games_ , except that his odds of being called are a bit bigger at 1:16.

Jongup thinks that fate must be laughing at him as the professor calls his name and everyone in the class simultaneously turns to look at him as he gulps and then clears his throat. Points to them for being so synchronized, though.

He takes a deep breath and sighs heavily, wincing as he speaks. Of course this would happen to him, as if there wasn’t enough suffering on his side of the board already. “Um, actually, Professor–”

“I’ll go!”

Jongup blinks, his mouth hanging open just a bit.

“I’d like to go first, actually, Professor, if Jongup doesn’t mind.” Daehyun waves his arm in the air conspicuously and Jongup glances at him, brows furrowed and confusion very obviously decorating his face. Daehyun sends a quick wink and a smile his way when Jongup meets his eyes, and he immediately looks down.

_Shit, he knows._

 

It ends up taking Daehyun about half an hour to get his presentation going as he fumbles around on the computer, which is suffering from some “technical difficulties” AKA buying time.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call the Info Tech Team down?” The professor asks for what must be the sixth time.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daehyun shoots her a wide smile, “I got this, just give me a minute. Weird that the computer decided to spaz out today, huh?”

There are a couple of snickers throughout the classroom, but the professor just rolls her eyes. “Technology will forever remain a mystery to me,” she says, and for once Daehyun is thankful for baby boomers.

When there are 20 minutes left of class, he miraculously discovers a solution to the problem, and the presentation goes off without a hitch, taking up the rest of the allotted time. Has a plan ever gone over more smoothly?

 

As soon as he’s finished and the professor dismisses the class, Jongup is out the door. He’s not taking any chances that have anything to do with confrontation. Daehyun knows, he’s sure of it.

“Hey, Jongup!”

 _Oh god._ Jongup glances over his shoulder and, suspicions confirmed, speeds up and rounds the corner. He can’t talk to Daehyun; he can’t.

But Daehyun isn’t having any of that, and he picks up his pace too. “Hey, what are you doing‽” He weaves through the people in the hall, trying to follow Jongup, but he doesn’t manage to catch him until they’re outside, when he decides to sprint up and corner him in front of the garden.

A little, surprised “oh” leaves Jongup’s lips and Daehyun tries not to think about how adorable the sound is.

“What’s your problem?” He asks instead, trying to look accusatory and knowing that he’d failing miserably when it comes out sounding more hurt than anything. He recovers quickly by clearing his throat and rolling his eyes when Jongup has the decency to act confused, avoiding eye contact at all costs. “I wouldn’t object to a ‘hey, Daehyun, thanks for saving my ass, I owe you one’, you know?”

“No, I–” Jongup shakes his head frantically, but Daehyun interrupts him.

“Why are you trying to run away from me?”

Jongup freezes in place just as he’s trying to duck away again. “Oh, uh, I’m not,” he manages to get out. “It’s just, I have another class in five minutes, and it’s across campus–”

“I call bullshit.” Daehyun folds his arms across his chest, and Jongup frowns and sighs.

“And here I thought I was a good liar,” he mumbles, looking to the ground. “I’m sorry. Thank you for saving my ass.”

Daehyun laughs, and Jongup just about dies inside, he’s never heard anything so beautiful.

“So, you don’t actually have a class to get to?”

“No,” Jongup smiles, and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, again–for running away from you, I mean, I just–” he cuts off abruptly when Daehyun grabs his hand and turns around, dragging Jongup behind him. “Wait, where are we going? What–”

“Calm down,” Daehyun looks over his shoulder. “You’re gonna hang out with me.”

“I…okay?” Jongup clutches the strap of his bag and moves, hesitantly, to walk alongside Daehyun, but when he tries to pull his hand back, Daehyun’s grip only tightens.


	10. It's Very Unusual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jongup has two secrets; 1) his crush on Daehyun (ofc) and 2) a small-scale superpower. Like weak telekinesis or so. As Daehyun insists on joining him for long dance practice sessions each day, it gets increasingly hard for Jongup to keep his secrets. Please write a scene where both are revealed! (Bonus if Jongup uses superpower to get his water bottle!)"-anon
> 
> well, this got out of hand and a little weird/abrupt?????? but hey I tried my best ;) xx (also I kinda strayed a bit whoopssss)
> 
> pairing: daeup  
> rating: PG-13 (like 2-3 swears lol)  
> warnings: n/a

Jongup’s been staring at the lamp on his dresser for a solid 20 minutes, just watching the different waves of color that form the bright, yellow light emitting from the bulb. He’s supposed to be working on his Statistics homework, but by the third question, he was so frustrated he accidentally knocked the violet straight out of his light, causing the yellow glow to shift and fade to a paler shade.

Jongup thinks to himself that by now, he should have this useless ability under control, but no. Despite his lack of hold on it, though, he’s somehow managed to keep the issue as a secret from his nosy roommate. With finals approaching, however, Jongup is a bit worried about controlling himself, since Daehyun is in the room a lot more to study. He’s here right now, in fact, but he fails to notice the shift in lighting, and Jongup continues to stare into his lamp.

“You’re gonna go blind doing that.”

Jongup jerks up, nearly launching his textbook from its position on his pillow as he moves, and his eyes dart to Daehyun, who’s perched on his bed across the room. His eyes don’t need to adjust to the change in lighting.

“What are you working on now?” Jongup changes the subject, and Daehyun groans.

“Dammit, Jongup, I was trying to  _ distract  _ myself with you.” He flops backwards on his bed, arms falling next to him so that he looks like a starfish with its legs still criss-crossed

Jongup just shrugs. It’s silent for another minute as Daehyun continues to stare at the ceiling, and Jongup attempts to go back to his math homework.

“How’s the choreo going?”

Jongup frowns at the interruption, but answers his roommate regardless. “I finished the outline, but I haven’t actually rehearsed anything yet,” he says sheepishly.

“Sounds like we’re in the same boat.”

* * *

 

Jongup freezes mid-spin when he sees the door of the practice room open in the reflection of the mirror.

“Wow, a metal track for your final? That’s edgy,” Junhong, a fellow member of the dance program, wanders into the room, dropping his bag against the wall and sliding down next to it.

Jongup pauses the music and puts his hands on his hips. “It’s different,” he corrects. “And that’s what gets you places. Plus, I already did lyrical for my midterm.”

Junhong just shrugs and pulls an apple from his bag. “Whatever,” he takes a bite, “I’m still doing Kiesza,” he speaks through a mouthful of fruit.

“Which one is it, again?” Jongup bends down to retrieve his water bottle.

“Hideaway,” Junhong takes another bite.

Jongup takes a drink. “Isn’t that one super repetitive?”

“Well, yeah, but the track only has to be two minutes,” Junhong chucks the remainder of his apple into the trash can on the other side of the room. “For three,” he mumbles unenthusiastically, arm still held in the air, hand bent at the wrist.

“So, what’s up?” Jongup slides down to sit next to him.

“Well, I wanted to grab a room to practice, but all the others are taken, so I decided to crash yours,” he shrugs.

“Got any in-class exams?”

“Ugh,” Junhong groans. “Too many.” He looks over at Jongup with a raised brow. “How’s the stress treating  _ you _ ?”

Jongup shoves his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Remember during midterms when we were rehearsing the day before your exam?”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, you  _ blinded  _ me!”

“You’re being overdramatic.”

Junhong crosses his arms over his chest. “You could’ve told me about it, you know,” he huffs.

“What good would that have done?” Jongup sighs. “The worst I’ve ever done is ruin my dad’s kitchen wallpaper.”

“Whatever.” Junhong stands up. “Mind if I run through my routine a few times?” He eyes Jongup’s sweaty form. “You look like you need a break, anyway.”

Jongup takes a gulp from his water bottle. “Go for it.”

* * *

 

“Hey,” Jongup greets Daehyun as he closes the door behind him and tosses his bag onto his bed.

Daehyun grunts in response, obviously in a mood.

Jongup rolls his eyes and peels his tank top off to throw it into his hamper. “Having fun with that composition of yours?” He turns to take a clean towel from the closet, missing the way Daehyun’s eyes drag over his bare back.

“I love my major,” Daehyun states flatly, and Jongup chuckles.

“I’ll be back,” he turns towards the door, catching Daehyun’s eyes before he buries his face in his Music Theory papers.

 

Jongup is so exhausted, he barely makes it back into the room before collapsing onto his bed, not even bothering to put clothes on despite the fact that his towel is dampening his comforter. He groans.

“Dae, could you shut the curtains? S’too bright in here,” he complains.

“It’s overcast out, Jongup.”

“Oh. Turn the light out, then?”

“No, I’m working.”

Jongup groans again, rising from the bed to slip on a pair of boxers, only to fall back into the sheets immediately after. He buries his head beneath a pillow, relaxing and releasing a loud sigh as soon as he shuts his eyes.

“Whoa!”

Jongup jerks at the shout, but he doesn’t uncover his head. “What? You good over there?”

“Our lights just went out,” Daehyun spoke slowly, and Jongup froze.  _ Shit.  _ He hadn’t even noticed.

“Uh, you think the power’s out?” He mumbles.

“We run on a generator; no way.” Jongup hears a textbook slam shut. “Seriously? How could all three bulbs have blown  _ simultaneously _ ?”

Something shifts, and footsteps cross the room. “Wait…” a switch flips. “The hell? The lights weren’t even turned on! Great, now I’m hallucinating!”

Jongup cringes and rolls over. Had he been powering the lights?  _ Whoops _ . Honestly, this dumb…quirk, gift, curse, talent, whatever the hell it was–controlling wavelengths and hues of light? He doesn’t even know–is really just a hinderance. Jongup has yet to discover a benefit that doesn’t involve being able to shut the lights off without getting out of bed. In fact, he’s got no idea what it is or where it came from, just that it’s driving him absolutely insane. Jongup tries not to think about it, but the entire thing just seems so utterly ridiculous to him sometimes. He’s tried to imagine himself as a superhero, beating up villains that don’t exist by messing around with the color of their hair. He barks a laugh at the memory of his high school fantasies. How stupid.

“You all good over there?” Daehyun’s voice travels across the room, and Jongup feels his cheeks heat up and his brows draw together.

“Fine,” he calls weakly over his shoulder, pillow now lodged in his embrace. His discomfort must show, because he hears springs creak and suddenly the mattress beneath him dips. He glances up when Daehyun throws his legs over his back, but doesn’t say anything, instead electing to ignore the sensation as much as possible and close his eyes again.

“You’re being weird,” Daehyun accuses, poking him in the shoulder.

“You’re just trying to avoid doing your work,” Jongup mutters back.

“Well, yeah,” Daehyun admits, “you’re a good distraction.”

Jongup covers his face with his pillow again. How ironic that Daehyun thinks  _ Jongup _ is good at distracting  _ him _ .

“Why are you hiding from me?” Daehyun whines. “Come on,” he shakes Jongup’s shoulder, and Jongup tries to maintain a steady heart rate. “What’s up with you?”

“Tired. Go away.”

Daehyun scoffs. “We’re all tired; it’s finals week.”

Jongup presses the pillow harder into his face as Daehyun leans over him.

“Jonguppie~come on…” Daehyun tugs at the pillow, and Jongup’s arms tighten around it too late, the cushion slipping from his arms.

He keeps his eyes shut; he can feel the pigment of them changing, something he doesn’t recall ever having happened in the past. What was wrong with him?

“Wake up~” Daehyun poked Jongup’s cheek, and he flinches, squeezing his eyes tighter.

“Hey, wait––when did you get highlights?” Jongup feels Daehyun’s hand tug at his hair.

_ Dammit,  _ he swears to himself. “Uh, just the other day,” his voice wavers a bit. “Do you like it?”

“Well, I’ve gotta say, ginger was an interesting choice, but–”

“Ginger‽” Before Jongup can stop himself, his eyes snap open and he sits up, grabbing at his hair. He’s been able to manipulate his hair color, but he’s never gotten ginger right before.

“Jeez, contacts, too?” Daehyun sounds baffled. “What are you working on that you need all this color for? Or are you just changing up your look?” He peers closely at Jongup’s face, which has got to be bright red by now.

Jongup ducks his head. “Oh, right…contacts. Uh, yeah, for my routine. I’m just testing them out today; you noticed, congratulations!” Jongup tries to maneuver his way out from under Daehyun’s legs, which are resting over his stomach now, and slip out of the bed, but Daehyun catches him around the waist before he can get away, pulling him back down.

“Wait,” Daehyun brings his face closer to Jongup’s, inspecting his eyes.

Jongup blinked, hoping the color wouldn’t shift.

“What–” Daehyun breathed, grabbing the sides of Jongup’s face. “Where are the rings?”

“Rings?”

“Yeah, the rings of the contacts…I should be able to see the lenses…” he trails off.

“Oh, they’re super thin,” Jongup mumbles, still trying to wriggle away, but Daehyun’s hold on his face doesn’t waver. Suddenly Daehyun blinks widely and shakes his head, unintentionally squeezing Jongup’s cheeks. “I swear they were just blue…”

“They were blue?” Jongup is surprised, his own eyes widening when he catches his slip-up.

“Yeah, I–” Daehyun paused, “wait, are you implying that you didn’t know your eyes were blue?”

Jongup let’s his shoulders fall, figuring that it’s not worth hiding at this point, and he shrugs. “This has never happened before, I have no idea why just now.”

“…but you don’t seem surprised.” Daehyun let’s go of his face, and Jongup rubs at his jaw.

“What’s your favorite color, Dae?”

“What?” Daehyun looks taken aback. “I mean, pink, but–hey! What are you–”

Jongup puts a hand on Daehyun’s head, and the soft brown hair that he loves so much seeps into a deep purple-pink. Jongup frowns. “Hm. I was going for a more pastel shade…” he mumbles, dissatisfied.

“A pastel–” Daehyun’s confusion is cut of with a shout as he catches his reflection in the mirror across from where they’re standing, and he yelps. “What the hell‽ That’s not pink, that’s  _ magenta _ !”

Jongup looks taken aback. “ _ That’s _ your concern?”

Daehyun runs over to the mirror, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Look,” he starts, “I have no idea what’s going on, but it seems harmless and you look so hot with green eyes, so–” It takes Daehyun a second to realize what he’s said, and he slaps a hand over his mouth too late, eyes drifting to meet Jongup’s in the reflection of the mirror, slowly. “I mean–”

“I guess I should learn to control it, then.” Jongup’s awkward persona shifts into confidence, showing with an amused smirk, his eyes still glittering green.


	11. Splintered Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still not sure what happened here or why it happened oops i was listening to tragic music. this is just some flash fiction that happened so
> 
> here xx
> 
> Pairing: Daeup  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Genre: tragedy, romance  
> Warnings: kinda sad, implied but not confirmed death

            The spindly fingers of wind grasp and tug, locks of hair slipping through them as they are dragged along and past him with their brethren. The sunlight is long trapped far, far behind layer upon layer of cloud and dust, kept well outside the atmosphere. The light that valiantly pushes through sits heavy and brown, illuminating dully particles of sand and dust and electricity that swirl around rusty buildings and broken telephone wires. They were warned long ago of the potential that the weather had to wipe the lands clear again, and now is the time, he supposes.

            He leans forward, against the wooden railing of his front porch, and watches the hot and cold currents of air spike together and weave themselves into a thunder filled funnel on the horizon.

            He doesn’t turn around. The sound of his brother’s desperate voice is muffled and barely there, drowned out well by the winds that scream _death_ into his ears.

            A hand grabs his shoulder but he refuses to budge, worn, worried but guarded eyes scanning the empty, dead fields that make up a desperate town.

            _He would be back any minute now. He would make it back to the house before the storm reached them and tore up the trees and whatever else stood tall and proud on the earth._

            _They would be together for the end._

His brother speaks something of retreating to the basement so that they can lock the cellar door and wait. That they can’t afford to wait any longer.

            _Not yet. Just a little bit longer. He’ll be here._

            He leans further into the wood, which digs half-heartedly into his stomach, and lets his eyes roam further. There is nothing. Nothing but the thick twist of wind speeding towards them, tearing up the ground beneath it and sucking unlucky, sickly livestock into its waves to end their long-lived suffering.

            _No._

            Eyes stormy and dull as the sky not far above, he yanks his elbow from his brother’s grasp, and firmly grips the rail to support his weight as he lifts himself and jerkily vaults over the rickety, century old oak.

            Nothing stops him as the sprints into the hold of the wind, which slips around him and through already-tousled and teased hair; not even the faint pleading of a brother’s voice carried and then snuffed by the dust to deter.

            _If he’s got to die, he’s going to die with him._

            He’s fast as the lightning, a wild horse riding on the low clouds kicked up by soles of beaten, borrowed leather. Nothing is visible past one foot from himself now, and his legs push to their limits as he holds a hand before his eyes to deflect what particulate matter it can. His lungs reject the air they drag in, pushing it back out as soon as the they grasp the oxygen, and he lifts his t-shirt to cover his nose and mouth in hopes of filtering the larger debris, but the coughing relents. Path memorized, his outstretched palm finally hits the sanded-down, paint-chipped wood of the place he knows he’ll be, the place he goes to when he’s upset or distraught, the only place he’ll be: the barn.

            It is quiet inside but the horses know, and the smoky-blue cat that sleeps in the bundles of hay is nowhere to be seen.

            It is merely a matter of minutes, now.

            He pants and coughs, dust still clouding his esophagus, dirt forever painted onto his forehead, and finally, finally he spots him through squinted, watering eyes.

            “Daehyun…,” the name is only breathed, yet it is so loud in the warmth of the last breaths of the wild.

            Daehyun turns from where he stands, gazing numbly outside, hands grasped behind his back and watching nature destroy his home.

            “I was wondering when you’d show up.” His voice is choked, face wet, but he’s smiling.

            Jongup breathes a sigh and reaches out to touch him. His hand is met halfway and he’s pulled into Daehyun’s embrace, shaky but warm and _there._

            “Did you doubt me?” He rasps into his shoulder. “I though you would come back to the house…”

            Fingers sift through his hair, brushing out shifting plumes of dirt. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think that this… that it would actually reach us.”

            Jongup tightens his hands around Daehyun’s waist and lifts his head to press their cheeks together. He’s glad he can feel the peach-soft skin.

            They sit together, leaned against the worn wall, hands woven and resting lightly on the hay-strewn ground beneath them.

            As the wind’s howls and roars grow nearer and the wooden boards begin to shiver, Jongup reaches over to unbuckle Daehyun’s belt, and he slides it smoothly from the loops of his pants, the grip of his other hand still tight on Daehyun’s fingers until he lets go to loop the leather around both their waists. Daehyun’s own hands replace his to fasten the buckle around them, making sure that it’s also around the metal pole that travels far beneath the ground to pump water in for the animals now awaiting their slow demise behind them.

            As soon as the belt is secured as well as it can be, a hope that they will remain together no matter where they are taken and laid down, Daehyun’s hands are back in Jongup’s.

            There is a sudden rush of wind that rocks around them, and the horses screech as a once proud oak tree is thrown through a wall, crushing and sending debris settling, unstill, upon them. In tandem with the animals, one of the boys, neither could say which, scratches out a breathy sob, and they hold each other ever tighter together as the reality sinks like a stone deep into their stomachs.

            The sunlight snuffed by the clouds appears only in the hope of the metal beneath the ground, the strength of worn leather, and luck that neither has ever believed in.

            A sharp, splintered shard grazes Jongup’s cheek, and drops of blood are drawn, forcefully torn from his broken skin as the riptide of wind curls sharp around them, suffocating oxygen from lungs and shuttling it far; too far away.

            It plays in slow motion: the symphony of sand and wood that make up tombs playing so fast but so smooth in circles around them. Vain gasps for air that is long choked away go silent as they press foreheads together. Daehyun’s legs are locked around Jongup’s waist, and if not for the metal separating them a mere few inches from being chest to chest, the two heartbeats would be pumping against each other, as close as each breath is to being the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((possible sequel if enjoyed by my audience??))


	12. Drabble Prompt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "is that cashier looking at you?"
> 
> took some liberties. smol drabble.

“Jongup.”

            _“Jongup.”_

Youngjae ruffles his hair and blows out a tired sigh. “We didn’t come here to buy out the entire cereal aisle,” he says, pulling at Jongup’s arm. Jongup doesn’t budge.

            “Do you think it’s socially acceptable to have off-brand Cheerios for dinner?”

            Youngjae raises and eyebrow. “Socially acceptable? No. Legal? Unfortunately, yes.”

            “Sound good to me,” Jongup says tiredly, shrugging. He reaches forward to grab a box of processed oats.

            “Oh, no you don’t,” Youngjae grabs his wrist and takes the second in which Jongup is caught off guard to haul him away from the shelf. “Unluckily for you, it hasn’t been dinner time for about five hours.”

            “But for tomorrow–”

            “No.” Youngjae ignores Jongup’s pout, and keeps his eyes steeled ahead, looking for the right aisle.

            Jongup sighs, too tired to argue further, and lets himself be towed through the store. Youngjae keeps talking, but Jongup isn’t listening. Youngjae looks over once inquisitively, but Jongup’s got no idea what the question was, so he just nods and pushes his glasses up with one finger, and Youngjae seems satisfied as he continues his rant.

            To be totally honest, Jongup’s got no idea what they came here for. He thinks he remembers Himchan saying something about not having enough food––or maybe it was beer, he doesn’t know. But whatever it is, he and Youngjae were sent to the grocery store to retrieve some. Who knows why Jongup was elected to go, as he considers himself most definitely _not_ the most useful friend at the hour of 1 in the morning; he’d be snoozing deeply on Yongguk’s couch, suffocating a pillow––or maybe Daehyun––in his arms right now if not here.

            Youngjae has stopped walking, and Jongup moves away from him to lean back on a near-empty display of watermelons, folding his arms across his chest. He loses the will-power to keep his eyes open and lets them fall closed, only to jolt up, startled, and knock a large melon to the ground when Youngjae kicks him in the shin. They both jump, and watch as the fruit rolls lethargically down the aisle before coming to a painfully slow stop at the base of an abandoned shopping cart.

            “Whoops.”

            Youngjae’s face finds a home in the palm of his hand.

            Jongup retrieves the watermelon.

            “I guess we should take it,” he suggests.

            “Jongup, that’s illegal. It’s ‘you break you _buy,’_ not ‘you break you _take’_.”

            “That’s got a nice ring to it.” Jongup squats down and picks up the watermelon. “But it’s also not what I meant, literally speaking.”

            “…well, you’re paying for it.”

            “I was gonna pay anyway, dork.” Jongup rises from the floor, watermelon balanced on his head with the help of one hand keeping it steady. “You forgot your wallet.”

            Youngjae pats his pockets. _Dammit._

            Jongup notices that Youngjae’s arms are empty, and raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t find whatever it is we came here for?”

            “Nah,” Youngjae shoves his hands into his pockets. “Let’s just give Himchan the watermelon. I’m sure it’ll make do.”

            “Sounds good to me.”

            “Jongup, please take the melon off your head. People are giving us looks.”

            “There’s no one here, Jae. It’s one in the morning.”

            Youngjae jerks his head, motioning to the right. “The cashier is hard-core judging you.”

            “So?”

            Youngjae sighs. “Just give it to me,” he mumbles, snatching the watermelon from Jongup’s head.

            “Wait, I know that kid,” Jongup says, stopping Youngjae as he shifts to cradle the watermelon in his arms.

            “Okay?”

            “He’s in one of my intermediate classes. A year younger, but he skipped the intro course.”

            Youngjae scanned the cashier. He wasn’t looking at them anymore; instead fiddling with a loose thread on his polo shirt, blinking tiredly, brows knotted in concentration as he twirled the string around his index finger.

_“Him?”_

            “I know, right? He’s so tall. I wish––”

            “No, not––never mind. Let’s just go and bring this stupid melon back.” Youngjae makes his way to the counter, Jongup close on his heels, pulling a five-dollar bill from his pocket.

            “Do you want a bag for this?”

            Despite sharing a class with Junhong, Jongup doesn’t think he’s ever actually heard the boy speak until now. His voice is quiet and shy-sounding, just as Jongup would have assumed it to be. He seems tired, too.

            “No, that’s okay,” Jongup answers before Youngjae can reply.

            “Gonna carry it back on your head?”

            Jongup blinks, and hands Junhong the money. He’s staring. He knows he’s staring but he just really doesn’t care.

            “Probably,” Youngjae huffs. “And if he drops it then _he’s_ the one facing our suite-mate’s wrath.”

            “I accept full responsibility,” Jongup mumbles without thinking, his eyes still on his classmate as the watermelon is handed back to him along with a few bills and a penny. When he doesn’t move right away, Youngjae jabs an elbow into his ribs, and Jongup grunts at the impact.

            “Sorry,” Youngjae says, pulling him towards the door. “He’s a bit out of it.”

            But Jongup _isn’t_ out of it. Not at all. He’s very focused, actually; but only on the tiny smile that’s folding a dimple into Junhong’s right cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me prompts on tumblr at: shut-the-jongup
> 
> xx


	13. Drabble Request--"I said two, not twenty-two!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another overdue request from anon, oops
> 
> Rated T for implied (but not actual) sex, and language.

_45\. “I said two, not twenty-two!”_

 

        Himchan’s never gardened a day in his life. Which is why he is, to say the least, surprised when he opens his front door on a late-July Sunday morning to a porch-full of burlap-wrapped saplings.

        He had been expecting the newspaper (much as his friends tease him for reading the Sunday morning paper at the age of 26), but, well. His face is the epitome of horrified confusion, especially enunciated by the way his un-groomed hair stands awry in a mess atop his head, curling around the temples of the glasses he only wears one day a week.

        He gently closes the door and pulls out his phone, opening his contact list. He knows who’s responsible for this.

        There’s no answer.

        He calls again.

        And again. Finally, after five more rings:

      _“This better be important.”_

        Daehyun sounds out of breath, and Himchan wonders why he was working out at such an early hour of the morning. “Oh, it is,” he quips. “I can’t get past my front porch.”

_“And this is my problem because…?”_

        “No, not your  _problem_ ,” Himchan corrects, leaning back on his kitchen counter, “your  _fault_.”

        Daehyun exhales exasperatedly from the other end and then groans, but the sound is more distant, as if he’s holding the phone away from his face.  _“Can’t this wait? I’m trying to… finish… something…”_

        “No,” Himchan snaps. “I want to know why there are twenty-two trees on my front porch!”

       _“Oh, that was me. It’s your gift for–Wait, twenty-two? I swear I only ordered two…,”_  then, more muffled:  _“Wait, wait a sec, let me clear my name–”_

        There’s a small scuffle from the other side of the phone, and Himchan reaches for his coffee with a sigh. He just doesn’t understand this boy.

        _“Talk to you later, Himchan,”_

        This is a new voice. Himchan almost spits out his coffee.

        “Jongup? What are–my god, I swear, if you picked up the phone in the middle of–”

        _“Bye!”_

        “Wait! How do I get rid of these trees?!” Himchan shouts, spilling a bit of coffee onto his slippers and kicking them off as it seeps through the fabric and burns his skin.

        “Fuck you, Jung Daehyun!” He hollers into the receiver, hoping Daehyun can hear him.

_“Will do, Himchan.”_

        The line goes dead, and Himchan pulls it away from his face, staring at the dark screen.

        “I heard we’re yelling at Daehyun again?” Himchan turns to see Yongguk poking his head out from their bedroom.

        “Yes. Yes, we are very much yelling at Daehyun,” Himchan grumbles, and Yongguk makes his way into the room, taking Himchan’s mug from his hand and stealing a sip.

        “What’d he do this time?”


	14. small beats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It helps the most when Jongup can feel Yongguk’s heartbeat right up against his own, because then he can focus on breathing just right to make his match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i posted this as a solo one-shot, but i still wanted to add it to this collection for the sake or organization. :)

Sometimes Jongup feels small. But it happens to everyone, he thinks. At least, that’s what Yongguk tells him whenever he sits down next to him on the couch and just sits and sits, because Yongguk can tell that he feels small when he looks over and Jongup is just looking at him with kind-of-sad eyes. And he believes Yongguk, because then he’ll pull Jongup into his arms so that he’s sitting on his lap facing him, legs on either side of Yongguk’s hips, and hold him against his chest so that his chin rests on his shoulder and his nose in his neck, and then he’ll hug him until he’s okay again, even if it means getting a few tears on the sleeve of his shirt.

Jongup even managed to get Yongguk to sing for him one time, when nothing else was working. They had stayed up for hours that night, just chest to chest, nose to nose, arm in arm with the curtains drawn tight.

It helps the most when Jongup can feel Yongguk’s heartbeat right up against his own, because then he can focus on breathing just right to make his match.

 

And sometimes it’s the opposite, and Yongguk will slide up against Jongup’s back when he thinks he’s sleeping, and he’ll rest his forehead in the curve of his shoulder with quick breaths. He’ll put a hand on the front of Jongup’s chest and the other on his shoulder blade to smooth up and down, back and forth, sometimes underneath his shirt (when he’s wearing one) and Jongup thinks he does that because Jongup is always warm and Yongguk is sometimes cold and he knows that it helps when he can feel Jongup’s skin because Jongup’s skin is just so alive.

At first Jongup thought it was strange that Yongguk comforts himself by comforting others but then it made sense after the first night it happened, when Jongup didn’t pretend to be asleep and instead turned around when he felt that hand on his shoulder. He had opened his mouth but Yongguk shook his head and moved his hand up to his cheek when Jongup furrowed his eyebrows, saying just let me touch you. So he did and Yongguk was okay. He didn’t get it at first, but that morning when they woke up Yongguk told him that bodies are grounding, and that Jongup’s was especially so, and he didn’t know why, just that he felt solid and he felt warm and he felt  _ real  _ and it was what Yongguk needed to feel sometimes.

 

But today it’s Jongup who needs that; it’s Jongup who feels small and leans his front against Yongguk’s where he’s sitting on the couch, whatever he was watching on the TV forgotten as he brings his palms up to Jongup’s back and pulls him closer so that Jongup can feel his heartbeat against his own because Yongguk knows that he needs to feel it right now. And Jongup exhales when he turns his head to nose at Yongguk’s neck, so that on the next, more even breath he can smell that scent that always makes the next breath a little slower, a little easier, especially when Yongguk’s hands curl over the back of his shoulders so that the tips of his long fingers nearly brush where his collarbones are, and he does the same to Yongguk, slipping his hands behind him and against the couch, then over the top of his shoulders, too. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle this way, just like Yongguk tells Jongup bodies should do.

Yongguk knows that Jongup doesn’t want to talk when he cries, so he just moves one of his hands down and rubs the small of his back, massaging around each notch of his spine. He can feel Jongup loosen up and relax against him slowly, and his hands eventually stop clenching so hard around his shoulders. It took some trial and error to figure out what worked best for Jongup, as Yongguk had never really dealt with someone who cried like Jongup does before now; Jongup cries silently, he cries prettily and when Yongguk told him that once he just smiled back at him a little, then hugged him tighter. That was how Yongguk learned that Jongup was like him in a way, that he needed that same physical grounding. So instead of talking they just touch.

This time is easy; Yongguk’s hands work just like magic on his body, Jongup thinks, because he doesn’t feel so small anymore now, instead he feels relaxed, because Yongguk is there too, he knows now, and he’s fixed his breathing so that they match. Yongguk knows that he feels better, too, because Jongup moves his head to his chest instead of his neck, and Yongguk moves his hand to his hair, now, because he knows how much Jongup loves that. He asks Jongup if he’s better and Jongup says yes, he is, because it’s true. Yongguk always works.

So Yongguk takes his jaw and pulls him up so that he can kiss him, and Jongup follows his hand and slides back up against Yongguk’s chest so that he can let him kiss him. He knows that kissing is Yongguk’s favorite kind of touch, because then their muscles and veins are touching even closer, and it’s even warmer just like a sweet dream.

They can feel the weight of each other keeping firm roots in reality and that’s good, that’s nice, and Jongup can feel Yongguk’s fingers moving over his face, tiptoeing around the hoops in his ears and then down the side of his throat, where his nails scratch a little bit and then everything changes, then it gets a little faster and they can both feel the relief and contentedness coming from each other. So Jongup starts using his hands too, and he presses harder on Yongguk’s chest, but not on purpose, he just wants to feel the muscle moving while Yongguk breaths a little heavier, and he tries to keep up, as not to break the rhythm he has only just sewn together between their hearts.


	15. drabble involving pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today's teaser image inspired this. that's all i can say.

“All of the hair on my legs will be gone after this shoot, won’t it?” Daehyun whined as he stepped into the leather and slipped his foot through the bottom.

Junhong nodded from where he stood across from him in the small dressing room. “If you’re not careful. But the longer your underwear, the less chafing you’ll have.”

Daehyun groaned. “God, it’s been forever since I’ve had to wear pants this tight.” He only had them tugged halfway up his calves. “How the hell am I supposed to get these over my boxers without getting them all bunched up and uncomfortable?”  
“You don’t.”

Daehyun jumped at Jongup’s voice when he pushed aside the curtain that separated them from the stylists, his own tight, leather pants looking like the might split over his thighs as the muscles flexed when he walked.

“What–– how did you get those on!” Daehyun pulled at his pants with everything he had in him, but they only released as ominous, squeaky stretching noise, and refused to move any more than halfway up his thighs. He tried hopping up and down, trying to shimmy them higher, and he would have toppled over if Junhong hadn’t caught him by the arm.

“Don’t they have a bigger size?” he complained. “These are too small!”

“No, they’re not,” Jongup said, walking closer. “You’re just not trying hard enough.”

Daehyun let out an exasperated noise. “Well how did you get yours on?” He gestured at the tight, matte leather hugging Jongup’s legs. “Wait, they’re all bunched up at your ankles and knees. Are they even up all the way?”

Jongup frowned and lifted the hem of his sweater to show the belt holding them to his waist. Though it wasn’t like they’d fall off without it. The belt was either for fashion’s sake, or to help in cutting off his circulation. “Yes,” he said, tugging at the hem.

“He’s just short,” Junhong said, and Jongup elbowed him in the ribs.

Daehyun snickered.

“Fine, maybe I won’t help you then.” Jongup made to turn around but Daehyun grabbed his arm.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry. Please don’t make me get the stylists to do it. You remember what happened to Youngjae last time.”

Jongup just shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know how much help I can really give. I don’t want to rip them just trying to get them over your thighs.”

“Well how did you get them up over your underwear? Your thighs are bigger than mine!”

“Barely,” Jongup said. “And I just took my boxers off.”

“I am  _ not  _ going commando.” Daehyun could hardly say he was surprised. Jongup had a habit of doing that.

“Okay, fine. Junhong, hold his ankles down.”

“Wait, why?” Daehyun tried to take a step back when Junhong kneeled down to hold his feet to the ground.

“Put all your weight on him,” Jongup said as he stepped closer. He slipped his thumbs beneath the hem of Daehyun’s pants.

“What are you doing?” Daehyun leaned back when Jongup’s chest bumped into his and his fingers pressed into his thighs where he gripped the leather.

“I’m just gonna pull them up for you,” he said. “Relax.”

“Don’t you dare rip these; they’ll kill me.”

Jongup rolled his eyes, and pulled the leather as far out from Daehyun’s body as he could without breaking it, which wasn’t very far at all, and yanked the pants up to his waist.

Daehyun yelped when Jongup pulled a little too hard. He was certain he would have been lifted from the ground if not for Junhong anchoring him to the floor.

“I might’ve stretched them a little,” Jongup said as he stepped back.

Daehyun just stared at him, and Junhong stood up, brushing remnants of the floor off the front of his pants. He hadn’t been given his outfit yet.

“What? Don’t tell me you want me to fix your boxers underneath them, too,” Jongup joked.

“No!” They laughed when he shouted and shoved a hand down his pants to straighten out his underwear. “God,” he grunted. “Why did Yongguk get the loose pants?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed! remember you can submit requests anytime on my tumblr: shut-the-jongup  
> xx


	16. All It Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jongup knows he shouldn’t worry about these things; he knows that Yongguk is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He tells Jongup all the time that he doesn’t need to worry. But how can he not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: bangup  
> rating: G  
> warnings: none

 Problems that come in the living-with-Yongguk package are minimal to none. He’s quiet, he cleans up after himself, he likes to keep the windows open when it’s warm outside, and he even cooks sometimes. Or, tries to. But Jongup can’t care less about Yongguk’s lacking culinary skills, because they barely have time to eat a full meal at home more than once a week, anyway. What bothers him is that, despite the fact that there’s only one bed in the apartment, Jongup often finds himself sleeping alone. He knows that it isn’t because Yongguk doesn’t want to share a bed with him, he just has trouble sleeping sometimes. He knows that sometimes Yongguk just  _forgets_ to go to bed.

When it’s the insomnia, Yongguk always at least  _tries_ to get some rest, and that makes Jongup feel better. He’ll get under the blankets with Jongup and hold him from behind, until he just can’t lie still awake anymore. Or, sometimes, until he does manage to fall asleep, usually with a hand over the middle of Jongup’s chest, or his fingers pressed to the inside of his wrist, right over his pulse.

But when it’s not that, and Jongup falls asleep alone and wakes up at three in the morning cold, he finds himself frowning.

Everyone says that Jongup is the most difficult to wake up in the morning. They say that he’s always late, because he loves to sleep in so much. As true as that is, when there’s something on his mind (in these cases, Yongguk), sleep is impossible.

This time, he’s found himself tossing and turning for over an hour, staring at the digital clock on the bedside table and thinking about what Yongguk is doing. Did he get caught up in his work again? What if he fell asleep at his desk? The last time that happened, he hadn’t been able to turn his neck to the left until four hours had passed and Jongup practically forced him into a hot bath.

Jongup knows he shouldn’t worry about these things; he knows that Yongguk is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He tells Jongup all the time that he doesn’t need to worry. But how can he not?

Once again he finds himself rolling over to face the clock. It takes a few minutes for him to wiggle out of the twisted prison of sheets he’s gotten his legs stuck in, but he manages to stumble to his feet and grab a shirt off the floor (he’s not as good with the whole cleaning-up-after-himself thing as Yongguk is yet). He drags a blanket off the bed for good measure, too, and throws it around his shoulders like a cape. It drags a bit on the ground while he walks, something that his mother would have scolded him for.

Even though he’s been restless all night, fatigue is still crouched behind the windows of his eyes, weighing his body down to give sleepiness the opportunity to trip him over things and knock his feet and elbows into the door frame as he waddles his way out of the room.

The hallway is dark, having been left to slowly lose its navagitability as the sun had sunk in the late afternoon. Jongup follows the blinding glow that leaks around the corner from the living room, and he pauses in the open archway while his eyes adjust to the brightness of the lamp at one corner of the sofa. Yongguk hasn’t noticed him yet, as expected, and continues to study the notepad he’s holding in front of his face. Jongup thinks the paper is too close to his eyes. There’s a pencil – or is it a pen? – perched behind Yongguk’s ear, and when Jongup sees him reach up to grab it, he takes the few steps forward that close the distance between them and snatches it away before Yongguk’s hand has even made it higher than his own shoulder. When Yongguk turns around, his eyebrows are drawn together just enough for three tiny creases to fold in between them. Jongup presses his index finger there to smooth them away, but it only makes Yongguk raise an eyebrow and crease his forehead, instead, confused.

“Hey.” Jongup doesn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper, but he can barely hear himself speaking.

“What’re you doing?” Yongguk asks. “I’m working.”

Jongup puts the pencil down on the table beside them, and rests his hand on Yongguk’s cheek instead. “Do you know what time it is?”

Yongguk seems to consider the question for a long time, before finally tilting his head and saying that no, he doesn’t know what time it is, because he hasn’t been paying attention to the clock. He raises his gaze to inspect Jongup’s face. There are dusky smudges under his eyes, the color of dried lavender in the bright light of the lamp. Strands of fly-away hair rest against his forehead, some bits long enough to fall past his eyes, though not enough that he can’t see them. His eyes. Jongup’s eyes, which seem to be struggling to keep focus on one thing, darting around to clear the fog that settles in every time he lets them linger too long in one direction.

“It’s some insane hour of the morning, isn’t it?” Yongguk asks the question more like it’s an assumption. Jongup nods and lifts his other hand so that he’s cupping Yongguk’s face for a moment, brushing his thumb over his cheek before letting his hands fall to instead wrap his arms around his neck, hugging him from behind. He leans his head against the side of Yongguk’s neck, and one of Yongguk’s hand rises to rest in his hair.

“Just past three,” Jongup answers.

Yongguk laughs softly. “Could be worse,” he says. “But why aren’t  _you_ asleep?”

Jongup blushes and straightens up, reaching down to grab Yongguk’s hand and tug it lightly in his direction. “Cold.”

Yongguk smiles at his answer. It’s so like Jongup, in the best way possible, to be able to convey thousands of phrases and words by speaking only just one aloud. Maybe it’s because of how much time he’s spent with him, but Yongguk knows what Jongup really means. He can see it when he turns his head again and stands up, flipping the notebook in his hands shut and tossing it onto the coffee table.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, squeezing Jongup’s hand as he’s pulled through the hallway (not before turning off the light) and pushed into their room.

“Get changed and come sleep with me,” Jongup says, letting himself fall backwards onto the bed, still wrapped up in his blanket.

“Why, Jongup, I thought you’d never ask,” Yongguk says with a tired grin, making Jongup groan and bury his face in a pillow.

“Actual sleeping,” he mumbles. “But that does remind me, brush your teeth, too.” He laughs when Yongguk balls up the shirt he's just taken off an throws it at him.

“One time,” Yongguk mutters as he makes his way to the bathroom. “  _One_ time."

"That's all it takes," Jongup calls after him.


	17. untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some cheesy hurt/comfort for you
> 
> pairing: youngup  
> rating: PG  
> genre: hurt/comfort  
> warnings: panic attacks, unintentional self-damaging behaviors

Jongup swings himself around in his seat at the kitchen table so that he can’t see Daehyun anymore. It’s only a little better when he can’t see the upset expression on his face.

Disappointed.

A ringing takes over his ears as his fist clenches more tightly around the edge of the table, muffling Daehyun’s loud ranting and yelling completely, as he tries not to cry.

Angry.

Jongup lets go of the table to bring his hands together, and he squeezes hard, digging his nails into the fingers of the opposite palm and nearly cutting off the circulation to his thumb with his grip.

Frustrated.

Every muscle in Jongup’s body is strung tight. Ready to run. Or to fight. His jaw is clenched so hard he think his teeth might crack, but that’s the least of his worries. Two of his knuckles crack suddenly, when his hand spasms and presses harder on his fingers.

Upset.

And still, he’s shouting. But Jongup can’t understand him; his brain refuses to let the words go through, because if he could hear them he might just really break. So close to the edge already.

Just wait until he gets it out. They you can leave and hide in your room.

“Jongup!” Daehyun moves back into his line of view, hands on his hips and still seething. “Listen to me!” He steps closer and waves a hand in front of Jongup’s face, but he doesn’t even blink. “Hey––”

“What the hell is going on in here?” Youngjae, summoned from his room by the racket as soon as he had taken his headphones off, steps into the kitchen, but Jongup doesn’t see him. He isn’t seeing at all. He is staring at nothing and drawing blood with his nails and cracking his bones with his muscles.

“He won’t listen to me!” Daehyun shouts, and he moves closer to Youngjae, ready to enlist his help in whatever he’s lecturing about.

“Stop it,” Youngjae says, grabbing his hands––which are waving around in the air––by the wrists and stopping them. “Look.” He glances at Jongup for a second before turning back to the man in front of him. “I have no idea what the problem is right now, but it doesn’t matter. Look at him.” He lets go of Daehyun’s wrists to point at where Jongup is sitting at the kitchen table, chair facing outward, head hanging down just a bit.

“Does he look like he’s in the right state of mind to be taking a shouty lecture from you? You’re just accusing him of things over and over again!” Youngjae waves his hands around, gesturing at nothing. “You’re making absolutely no progress. He’s already shut down!”

“What do you mean ‘shut down’?” Daehyun hisses, seething at Youngjae now. “How could he not hear me? He’s right there!” He thrusts his arm out to point at Jongup, who doesn’t notice.

“Look, I don’t know what’s got you so pissed off, but be quiet now and we can discuss it,” Youngjae pauses to put his hand on Daehyun’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes, “calmly, in a nice, old-fashioned _conversation_ tomorrow.”

Youngjae walks to the table and pulls a chair out so that he can sit directly across from Jongup, their knees nearly knocking. He pulls Jongup’s cold hands into his lap, taking note of how little resistance he gets, and the lack of any sort of response, then begins to pry his fingers apart. “Ah, shit, he’s bleeding…”

“What? Where? How?”

“He was digging his nails into his palms, there’s just a few tiny cuts. Get me a warm towel,” he instructs.

Daehyun swallows thickly, his face turning from annoyed to confused to concerned, and he takes another look at the scene before moving to grab a towel off the counter and run the sink until the water is warm.

“Jonguppie?” Youngjae calls quietly. Jongup’s eyes jerkily make their way to meet his gaze, getting caught on other things along the way, but Youngjae can tell he isn’t quite all here. “Hey, try to relax your muscles, okay? Face first,” he said. Youngjae watched while Jongup took a deep breath and swallowed, before letting out a long, heavy breath, and unlocking his jaw with a loud pop and a wince from Youngjae. He tilts his head from side to side, and Youngjae can hear the vertebrae in his neck shift around before cracking, too. Daehyun softly clears his throat, standing beside Youngjae, and holds the wet towel out to him.

“Thanks,” Youngjae says, taking it from him. “Let go,” he says softly, turning back to Jongup and tugging a little at his hands, which are still locked together in his lap. Jongup looks down, absently. His stiff fingers jerk apart, and he lifts his hands to his face, but he doesn’t really see the tiny, bleeding cuts all other them, and presses his palms to his cheeks. Youngjae quickly pulls his hands back down to wrap them in the warm, wet towel, and he holds them down in his lap again so that Jongup can’t take them back. He tsks. “You got blood on your face, Jonguppie.”

Jongup can see Youngjae open his mouth, and assumes he said something, but he can’t quite hear him. It’s like they’re underwater; nothing more than garbled, watery sounds reach his ears. He closes his eyes and imagines that. He imagines that they’re both in the ocean, just floating under the surface in front of each other. The water is warm and smooth and clear and cleansing. But he can’t breathe. That means Youngjae can’t, either. They need to get back to the surface. He takes Youngjae’s hand and kicks upward.

“Youngjae?” His voice is quiet and cracks a little on the second syllable.

“Hi, Jonguppie,” Youngjae smiles from where he sits across from him.

“I thought––Daehyun?” he looks around, but nobody else is in the kitchen. Hadn’t they just been talking? He looks down at Youngjae’s lap, which is holding his own hands. He looks back up. “My head hurts.” He rolls his jaw. “So does, like, my entire face,” he adds.

“Muscle tension will do that,” Youngjae says with a soft smile.

“Oh. Did I… ?”

“Yeah,” Youngjae nods. “Come on, you should probably lie down for a little bit.” He pulls Jongup to his feet with the grip he already has on his hands.

Jongup stumbles on the first step. “Oh, God, my _back_ ,” he complains quietly, pausing for a moment to bend over and stretch a little bit, then lean on the wall. “I’m dizzy.”

“Uh-oh.” Youngjae puts his hands on Jongup’s shoulders. “Well that’s not good. Come on. Bed.” He moves one hand to Jongup’s lower back, and guides him slowly down the hall, until they reach his room.

Jongup whines as soon as his back sinks into the mattress, feeling his muscles shift and his spine attempt to relax after all the strain it had been under. “Ow,” he mumbles as he scrunches his face up at the ceiling.

“Okay, give me your hands back, now,” Youngjae says, sitting down cross-legged next to him on the bed. He had grabbed the first-aid kit after depositing Jongup on his bed, and has it set out next to him, now. Jongup worms his way closer to Youngjae’s side, grunting with the effort of moving, and rolls onto his side before dropping his hands into Youngjae’s lap.

Youngjae unwraps the towel that’s been around his fingers, and wipes Jongup’s cheeks clean of the light smears of blood his hands had left there with it before tossing it behind him. He’ll take care of that later. He unravels Jongup’s left hand first, and props it up on his knee before grabbing some disinfectant from the kit. He smooths the balm over the tiny cuts, which are mostly on his palm and the middles of his fingers, then tears and wraps a layer of gauze around his hand and secures it with medical tape. Dropping the gauze back into the box, he digs around for a packet of tiny band-aids for Jongup’s fingers. Jongup watches Youngjae work quietly as his other hand receives the same treatment. He’ll only need to keep them covered overnight.

“I’m sorry,” Jongup mutters once he has his hands back. Youngjae stows the first-aid kit under the bed.

“No, don’t be sorry,” he says, flopping down on his side to face Jongup. “It isn’t your fault, it’s––”

“It’s not Daehyun’s fault, either,” Jongup interrupts, and Youngjae frowns.

“He should have known better than to yell at you like that. Why was he yelling at you?”

Jongup bit his lip, and rolled onto his back, spreading his limbs out like a starfish. “He, um…,” Jongup squints, and Youngjae presses the pad of his index finger between his eyebrows to smooth the creases that form there. “I forgot. I can’t remember what got him so upset.” Jongup’s bottom lip begins to quiver. “I just––his face, he look so disappointed, but I can’t remember why, and––”

“Hey, shh, Uppie, stop that.” Youngjae props his head up so that he can see Jongup’s face clearly again, before moving closer and bringing him into a hug, which Jongup naturally molds into. “It’s okay,” he continues, “and I couldn’t be more proud of you. It doesn’t matter what he was mad about. It’s probably nothing. Daehyun’s just a pissy idiot sometimes.” He nuzzles his nose into Jongup’s hair while Jongup buries his face into Youngjae’s neck. “And you’re amazing. Just in general.” He presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You know how Daehyun is,” he says as he runs his hand up and down Jongup’s back slowly, pausing now and then to massage the knots around his spine and neck.

Jongup nods and slides lower so that his face is pressed against Youngjae’s torso.

“Did you try to explain it to him?” Youngjae asks.

“No,” Jongup says, shaking his head against Youngjae’s stomach. “I had no idea what to say, and I was trying to think of something that wouldn’t make it worse, but then he just started being so loud, and I couldn’t focus enough.” His voice is muffled, and Youngjae tries not to twitch away from the ticklish feeling of it against him.

“You should tell him, after he’s cooled down.”

“I know.” Jongup plays with the hem of Youngjae’s shirt with two of his bandaged fingers. “And about these sensory problems, too, probably,” he offers with a weak laugh, then clears his throat. “He should know. He deserves to know. I don’t know why he doesn’t know.”

“Let’s take a nap, first,” Youngjae proposes. He sits up and lifts the comforter from where it lay, thrown back at the end of the bed, and throws it over them before locking himself back in Jongup’s arms. “You need to rest.”

“Youngjae––”

“Don’t you dare give me that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit, Jongup. I know how tiring that is for you.”

Jongup sighs against his shoulder. “Thanks, Youngjae.” He squeezes him tighter.

“Yeah, yeah,” Youngjae says, stifling a yawn. “We can talk more about how much you adore me when we wake up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kids! it's been a while, huh? v v busy bee over here. this was actually already written and in my drafts, i just never published it until now. i hope you liked it :)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! hope you all enjoyed :) xx send me requests!! tumblr: shut-the-jongup


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